Flow
by Sorrel
Summary: You, Xander said from behind him, have got to stop brooding. Slash, SpikeXander. Follows my stories Living and Better.


**Flow.**

* * *

_I fight my demons everyday  
They come and go they up and flow  
Like the ocean.  
You think you know me and you know me  
But you don't know  
How scared I am._

"Petrified to Be God-Like," by Susie Suh

* * *

Spike sat by himself, staring out at the rain. The window was open and cool, damp air was misting in and chilling his skin, but he didn't move, just sat there, truly immobile as only the dead could be.

"You," Xander said from behind him, "have _got_ to stop brooding."

"'m not brooding," Spike said automatically, but there was no heat in his voice. "I'm thinking."

"Well, think a little quieter, because you're giving me a headache," Xander said. Spike could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice. "You don't want to be responsible for giving me a headache, do you?"

Spike finally gave in and turned to face Xander, who was lounging on his back on Spike's bed, sheets twisted and rucked up underneath him, wearing nothing but a pair of cargo shorts and his eye patch. A reluctant smile came to Spike's lips. "You know I don't, you bastard," he said. "The girls would sodding kill me if I caused one moment of discomfort to your princely body."

Xander snorted, but Spike noticed that he unconsciously ran his fingertips over the deepest of the scars that marked his body, proof positive that Xander had endured more than a few moments of discomfort in his young life. Not as young as he used to be, mind you; the boy was 'round about twenty-five or so by now, and a long, steely, dangerous way from the scared sixteen-year-old that had smelt so much like food all those years ago. If Spike remembered correctly, that particular scar, a deep furrow that came near as Nevermind to bisecting his left nipple, was a souvenir from a Grau'shak demon, during his first couple of months Slayer-searching in Africa. Before Spike had found him, but after he'd discovered his spine. Or rediscovered it. Spike wondered, sometimes, about the nature of courage, especially as related to one changeable, young-old, boy-man Xander Harris.

"So," Xander said, after they'd stared at each other for a while. "Gonna tell me what you were brooding, 'scuse me, thinking about?"

Spike sighed and turned to look back out the window. There were some things that were easier to talk about without Xander's dark eye fixed on him, glittering with knowledge. And Xander did know quite a bit, about life, the universe, and everything- but most especially, about one William the Bloody, a.k.a. Spike.

"I'm gonna have it out of you eventually, you know," Xander said. "You might as well tell me."

Odd, Spike thought. He'd said pretty much the same thing to Xander, once, and here they were, a couple weeks later, and he still hadn't gotten the answer he wanted. Or even, really, any answer at all. But then, Xander was a stubborn bastard, way more stubborn than Spike, when he wanted, and he could wait out the second coming of Christ if he needed to, which was a kind of patience that Spike had never, and would never, have. After the first couple days of nonasnwers, he'd just sort of given up. Xander wouldn't do the same, he knew.

"It's nothing," he tried. "Really."

"Yeah, try that on someone else," Xander said briskly. "What's wrong?"

Spike stared out at the soft, drizzling rain and let the sense of it wash him clean, wash out his mind till he felt blank and empty enough to answer Xander's question.

"Have you ever thought about your life," he said, "and thought that things might have been better if you'd died a long time ago?"

"Sure," Xander said easily, surprising Spike. He wanted to turn around again, look at Xander, see the emotions that ran across that changeable face, but he couldn't. Not just yet. "Hasn't everyone, at some point or another?"

"I think that 'everyone' doesn't have quite the supporting evidence I do that they might be right," Spike said, very dry. Like it didn't matter, like it was just a joke. And then, more seriously- "I've done a lot of things, Xan. A lot of bad things in my unlife, and I'm not sure there's enough good karma or whatever in the world to make up for it."

"I don't think you have to," Xander said thoughtfully. "I think that redemption is sort of pointless, actually." He smiled when surprise finally forced Spike to turn around. "Yeah, that's right, I said it. There's no way to measure that kind of thing. I mean, you could probably go by straight numbers, but since you've already saved the whole world from death, torture, and hellfire, I think you're probably way ahead there." Spike said nothing. "The truth of it is, you're not redeemed until you feel like you're redeemed, and basing your idea of redemption on Angel is beyond stupid, because he's never going to feel redeemed. He likes to wallow in his own pain far too much."

"Well, there's that prophecy," Spike said. "Seems he'll achieve redemption eventually, if he can last that long."

Xander snorted, eloquent in his expression of disgust. "And what happens then? He's human? I can't say that I'd ever want to be turned, but I sure as hell can't imagine being a vampire for hundreds of years and wanting to go back to being human. He's got this idea fixed in his head that it's his big reward, but I bet you anything that when it happens, it'll take less than a month before the shiny new body wears off and he realizes just what he's missing."

Sometimes, it was almost scary how well Xander knew people. Spike was willing to lay odds that Xander hadn't exchanged so much as a single word with Angel since the ponce had sodded off to LA the first time around, but here he was, coming out with a speech like that, and it was so true Spike almost couldn't believe it, because that never, ever would have occurred to him.

On the other hand, there were some things Xander just couldn't understand. He'd done some things he hadn't been proud of, but he hadn't killed, raped, tortured and fed the same way Spike had, or Angel, especially. Xander's inner darkness was a human darkness, and he'd never have the memories of a demon to regret. He'd never know what it was like to be afraid of yourself, not just afraid of what you can do, but afraid of _yourself,_ who you are at the core.

"You're right," Spike said, and smiled. "Thanks."

Xander looked surprised that Spike had given in so easily, and suspicious. "Just like that?" he asked.

"Yeah," Spike said, and crossed the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him. "Just like that." He put all of his genuine gratitude and caring towards this amazing person, this amazing friend, right there on his face where Xander could see it. Because Xander was right, and in a lot of ways, he did make everything better. But Xander couldn't heal everything, and Spike couldn't bear to let him know that.

"Cool," Xander said, and grinned. It was a happy grin, kind of silly-looking, and it made him look years younger than the battle-hardened, fucking extraordinary man that Spike had come to know. There was something in his smile, too, something more than youth stolen too early, more than the simple pleasure of helping out a friend in need. He looked like someone who was in love.

But that couldn't be, Spike thought. Mzuri had said it, weeks ago, that Xander was with someone, or wanted someone else, and if he was in love with someone else, then why was he looking at Spike that way, why was he looking at him like-

_Oh,_ he thought.

Oh.


End file.
